Dark Side of the Sun
by Jubalii
Summary: It's sort of like the apocalypse. Well, for Seras Victoria anyway. Vampires aid their King in a coup to overtake England's government, Seras is expected to be a simpering "Lady" who does nothing for herself, and it turns out that Millennium may have actually succeeded in their mission after all. It's time to take matters into her own hands for once.
1. The Last Days of Hellsing

_If I owned Hellsing, it would have had a lot more of those crazy dreams._

* * *

Seras awoke slowly, finding herself on the cold stone floor. Sitting up, a large black cloak fell from around her body, pooling in large masses of coarse fabric around her small frame and spilling along the floor all around her like an ebony sea. A coffin's satin pillow lay on the floor she'd vacated; pale virgin white shining like a beacon in the darkness of the cloak and the grayed stone beneath. She wiped her cheek and her palm came back sticky with crimson residue. She looked in confusion at the mess before it all came back to her and she glanced up at the ceiling with a whimper. Silence reigned.

Pulling the cloak back around her shoulders and curling up beneath the heavy fabric, she looked around Alucard's room. The basement chambers were bleak and chilly as always, but the cool air wasn't what made a shiver run down the vampiress's spine.

There was none of the fighting from earlier sounding above her head. She didn't want to think about what that meant. She only wanted to crawl to her room, curl up in her coffin and wait for the sun to set; pretending it's all a dream and when she woke up that night there'd be the normal Hellsing manor waiting for her.

She knew that if she peeked above the basement floor, she'd see a bloodbath of English carnage wrought by her former master. It was even more terrifying for her because he _was _her former master.

Although she'd stayed by his side after taking her precious freedom, now there was no Hellsing Organization to protect her. Integra had been dead for over fifty years now, and her decaying corpse couldn't guard Seras like the woman used to when she was alive. Seras was sure that Alucard wouldn't harm her; after all, she was just another one of his countless subjects now.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? She was one of numberless vampires under his service. She could get lost in the crowd. He didn't have to think twice about her anymore; she was another face in the multitude that swore loyalty to him.

Even so, he'd never been particularly unkind to her. And besides that little offer in Badrick when she was a new vampire, he had never mentioned that he would think of her as anything less than family. After all, they shared blood. And someone had come down here and covered her up as she slept. Either he'd done it himself, or he'd thought of her and sent someone down to look after her during the battle.

Then again, maybe a passerby had snuck in and taken pity on her, curled up on the ground. And he had never breathed a word about this coup d'état against the English government. She didn't know to feel relief or sadness that he apparently had thought against confiding in her. She hated to think such a thing was the result of one of his "spur of the moment" mood shifts.

She was still sitting in place, wondering what to do next, when he walked in. She hardly recognized him; in fact, the fright of it had her scrambling back across the floor, the cloak coming around her front in a shield of sorts.

The last time she'd seen him, it was for a fraction of a second before a blood-red wave engulfed the manor. She'd screamed in terror, remembering the last time the streets had drowned in the blood of his fallen enemies and feeling that it would be the end of her. But to her surprise she'd been pulled out of the way, down through the floorboards and into his bedchambers.

The blood had pooled at the door to the sub-basement room, but she'd been safe there, inside. She'd had a moment's clarity when the cat-boy's face had grinned out at her from the darkness and then she'd been alone, shivering in the room with not even a sliver of moonlight to keep her company. She'd cried for the soldiers, because she could hear their screams of torment from the floors above. She'd finally fallen asleep, exhausted by the exertion of her own sorrow.

* * *

He stopped just inside the door, staring straight at her. She looked back at him, afraid for her life. She wasn't used to him being dressed in anything other than his red coat and hat, with the snappy suit beneath. But he was so altered now; it was like looking at a completely different man.

He wore the silver armor she'd seen in the battle for London, when he'd taken his mantle again. She found herself focusing on the minor details she'd missed before, only because there hadn't been enough time to admire them. The greaves, each part fitting perfectly in the other to allow for both ease of movement and protection, the belted leather around his waist, holding up his weapons; it was all gleaming as though it were brand new. She could see her reflection in the untarnished breastplate, even from across the room.

Something was missing, and she realized that that _something_ was currently draped across her body. It answered one of her questions, at least. He must have come to see about her himself at some point in the night. Had he descended to his chambers to make sure she'd been saved in time; that the toxic pool of damnation and souls hadn't caught her up in its tide?

Even his face was different. Before, she'd hidden behind the relative safety of his master and teased him about sprouting facial hair in a matter of minutes. But now she looked at him more closely, wondering if the way she saw him now was truly the way he looked back when he was a human.

She could easily imagine it being so: the wild, tangled locks hanging down his back and in his face, the unshaved stubble that roughened his features; even the serious frown and the knitted brow, so unlike the charismatic and mocking smile that graced the face of the omnipotent vampire. The smile belonged to Alucard, but the frowning visage belonged only to the Prince she saw before her.

He stepped forward, metal boots clanking on the ground and echoing in the mostly empty space. She shrank further into her coverings and he paused. After a moment he reached up and pulled his bangs out of his eyes and she was hit with the full force of his vision. His eyes were more subdued than normal, the crimson more of a brownish-orange that glowed dully in his face.

"Do you fear me, Seras Victoria?" She gulped, still unable to get used to him using her full name. Especially in that accented tone. She wondered if he even knew he was doing it—he slid in and out of it so easily, she nearly bet that he didn't. She considered his question, thinking hard before answering.

"You rescued me from your own attack," she said softly, her voice unable to carry despite the echoing quality it had gained when she drank blood for the first time. "You had one of your familiars bring me down here where the blood couldn't drown me." She hesitated. "Do I _need_ to fear you?" she asked honestly. She wasn't sure, but it seemed like the right thing to inquire about if he was going to reclaim his throne.

"I have no wish to harm you." Seras wasn't sure that answered her question, but she took what she could get. Standing up on shaky legs, she looked down at her grimy pajamas with a wince before walking over to him. The cloak trailed behind her on the floor and she spared it a glance. It was so _long_; it draped over her shoulders and hit the ground at her feet, as well as leaving yards of fabric behind her as well.

She pulled the heavy thing off and handed it to him, and he swung the cloak over his shoulders as though it were nothing but a handkerchief. It draped down on him as well, but he was tall enough it didn't really matter. It looked right on him. She noticed her bloodstained reflection in the breastplate and rubbed halfheartedly at her cheek before sighing and repressing a shudder. She didn't want to know if it was her own bloody tears, or the blood of someone else.

"Come closer." She glanced up to see him motioning to her, his arm spreading the cloak wide. She swallowed, her mouth feeling dry as she warily eyed the invitation. Finally she decided that she had nothing to lose and stepped into the crook of his arm, looking up at him. He arranged part of the cloak around her and then the heavy feeling of his metal-covered hand fell onto the small of her back.

He guided her out the door and through the hallway, past the empty laboratories and abandoned rooms in the sub-basement. They climbed the first set of stairs together and he stopped at the door to her room. She opened it and found her things untouched, unstained by blood and fighting. She looked around, stepping farther inside and nodded in satisfaction at the state of her treasures.

"Clean and dress yourself. Tonight, our empire will begin anew." She blinked in surprise, turning around before she could think twice.

"What am I supposed to wear?" she asked, before immediately realizing what a stupid question it was. If he thought so, he didn't tell her. He instead stepped inside her room and pulled open her armoire with his shadows. He stared at the menagerie of clothing she'd collected for herself over the years before pulling out a simple blue gown she wore to every gala ever thrown at the Organization.

"This," he answered, placing the dress in her arms before turning and leaving her alone, shutting the door firmly behind him. She stared after him, fingering the silk dress before gasping and holding it away from her filthy clothing.

She was in and out of the shower quickly, and was combing the last of the blood from her hair when she realized what he'd said. "Our empire," she whispered. She paused, her eyes growing wide, before shooting another furtive glance at the closed door. "Our?"

Considering the word, she slowly continued to comb her hair. When she was a young vampire, hearing something like that would have made her panic. But the years had granted her patience and knowledge, and she used both virtues as much as she could.

"He could have meant "our", as in all vampires," she said thoughtfully to her reflection in the mirror. "But he also could have meant us, as in our blood tie to each other. The family's reign will start anew."

"Or," she added, feeling her heart trembling in fear and wonder at the direction her thoughts were turning towards, "Or he meant "our", as in me and him." She felt a smile tug at the corners of her lips. "Indulging in wishful thinking again, Seras?" she goaded herself.

Glancing at the clock she saw that was early afternoon. She hung the dress up neatly on the door to the bathroom and crawled inside her coffin, closing the lid. Even though she'd slept all morning, she was still tired. She closed her eyes and resolved to take a nap before finding out what he meant by "our".

* * *

She woke again, this time in the comforting darkness of her own coffin. She stretched, feeling better from the nap. She scratched the side of her face, feeling clean and ready for the night.

Then, like a freight train, the dealings of the day hit her again and her mind reeled with grief. She lay there a few moments, collecting her thoughts and wondering what she should do. Should she ask Alucard about what had happened, and why he'd done it? It was a question she could answer on her own, but coming from him would be more fulfilling. Or should she take the safer, alternate route and pretend that it never happened, that there was never a Hellsing Army that had existed before last night?

She was roused from her thoughts by a brisk knock on the lid of her coffin. She was instantly reminded of the days, long ago, when Walter would wake her up for one reason or another. The memories came flooding back with heartbreak, and she felt her chest constrict before pushing her emotions back behind a barrier in her mind and opening the lid to see who needed her, and why.

She sat up and came face to face with a middle-aged woman. Leaning back slightly, she eyed the stranger suspiciously while the woman eyed her with a scrutinizing air. The lady was dressed in the outfit of a maid in an old 1940s drama with the bunched skirts, stark white apron, and the lace-frilled cap sitting neatly over the bun that held her hair out of her face.

"Ye gettin' up?" she asked in a thick Northern accent. Seras nodded dumbly, still trying to figure out where a maid had come from out of all the carnage. The woman couldn't have been a vampire, for her eyes were the color of melted chocolate mixed with gold and hazel undertones. She moved with the slower speed of a human as well, but when she ripped open one of the blood bags and poured it into a bowl, a splash landed on the back of her hand and she licked it up without a second thought.

Seras made her way to the table and looked down at the bowl of blood, feeling her stomach curl in on itself in her hunger. She took the bowl and tipped the liquid into her mouth, ignoring the silverware set beside the bowl on a pressed napkin. The maid watched her, shaking her head and muttering something about "barbarian" before bypassing Seras and beginning to tidy up the disorganized room.

Seras drained the bowl, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand before raising her voice in a cry of protest as she saw what the maid was doing.

"Hey! Don't touch my stuff!" she shouted angrily, waving her hands at the woman. The maid stopped and spun around, hands on her hips and cheeks ruddy with exasperation. A few locks of her golden hair had come undone from the bun and floated around her plump cheeks.

"Now listen, I've got to be cleanin' this stuff up, Miss. I can't be lazing about in me bed all night like some people. There's a job to be done." Seras pursed her lips.

"Exactly what "job" are you talking about? Who are you, anyway? I haven't seen you around Hellsing before." The maid paused for the first time, looking at Seras as though _she _were the strange one.

"I'm your handmaid, ent I? The old one is good and gone now, and they sent me in as replacement, didn't they?" When Seras didn't reply right away, her thick eyebrows met over her nose and she wrinkled her face. "You look like you ent had no maid a'fore, standing there all befuddled."

"No, I haven't, actually. I'm not—well, what I mean is," Seras stuttered, "I've never had a need for one. I've always looked after myself." The maid's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and for a length she seemed completely dumbfounded, her mouth hanging open slightly. Then all at once she shook the shock from her gaze and dropped into a curtsy of sorts.

"Beggin' your pardon for me starin', but I ent never seen a Lady who ent had a maid a'fore," she began slowly, as if not trusting herself to speak. "And I surely ent heard of a Lady who'd rather be takin' care of 'erself." She set her jaw and her hands went back to her hips. "I can see why yer all jumbled up now, yellin' at me the way ye did."

"Who sent you?" Seras inquired, taking a vase of flowers from the maid's hands and sitting it back on the dusty shelf. "You said "they sent me"; who would that be?" She frowned. "Aluc—the King knows that I've been taking care of myself for as long as I can remember. I don't need a human looking after me." At her words, the maid looked as though she'd been slapped before forcing back her anger.

"_I ent a __**human**_," she growled angrily, golden-brown eyes glimmering with barely subdued rage. "That's a downright insult, Miss, although I don't know what I did to deserve it." She huffed and began dusting off the edge of the shelf with her apron. "If Milady didn't want me around her precious dust, she o'rt of said something more."

"I didn't know you weren't a human!" Seras yelped as she was hit with the full force of the maid's furious aura. "I've never seen a vampire that didn't have red eyes before, is all." The maid looked at her again, her eyes calculating.

"How many vampires _have_ you seen, then?" she asked, more forcefully than she had to. Seras tried to count, but ended up shrugging.

"Over the years? Lots. But they all had red eyes, unless they were FREAKs; then they had those yellowy, jaundiced eyes, of course." The maid straightened up slightly, her words taking a more curious edge.

"FREAKs? What be a FREAK? Ye say it like it t'wer a title of sorts." Seras poked at her neck.

"FREAKs. You know," she tugged down her collar and mimicked sticking a needle in her vein. "Chipped vampires. Ones who were changed by the Millennium group, not the normal way." The maid nodded slowly, her face set in a grim frown.

"I ent a freak of any sorts," she said at last. "But I _was_ chipped. I didn't want to be, but I was. They didn't do right by me, though. At least the chip didn't." She was suddenly too busy shining the front of the armoire with the fabric of her dress to look Seras in the eye.

"Y-you? A FRE—a chipped vampire? But how? You look like a human." The maid swallowed, but obediently began to speak.

"They stole me away from me family, and put that thing into me blood. Not in the neck, mind ye; they put it in my stomach and then watched me. That man—the doctor with the strange glasses—he said that I was a failed experiment when nothing happened for a few days and they turned me a'loose. I didn't know nothin' about what I'd become." She glared at the shining armoire, her teeth grinding against each other and Seras knew she was feeling the sharpened point of fangs in her mouth.

"We ent vampires—we can go out in daylight and eat regular food, and that sort o' like. But we also ent human—we can survive on blood if we have too, and we're a better built type; takes more to hurt us, I mean." She turned to Seras, her face set in a neutral expression, but Seras could see the resentment swimming in the maid's eyes.

"The German vampires, the ones that took us in once they realized what we was; they gave us our name. Me, and the others like meself, are what vampires call "Halbferts."

"Halbferts?" Seras repeated, trying not to laugh at the silliness of the word. The maid nodded seriously, dispelling any giggles arising in her.

"It's short for _Halbfertig, _the German word for "semi-finished". That's what we are, ye see. We're the poor souls that got the halfway finished chip, the one in its testin' stage. We ent never going to be more than that. That's why we're given the serving positions, to the Lords and Ladies of the Courts. Maids, farmhands, stable boys, chimney sweeps….We're the lowest on the ladder."

She stopped, shaking her head as if to dispel the thought. "But ye ent needin' be worrying about it. I've been this way for the past hundred years or so—I think it was 1933 when I was captured and carted away. I'm used to the servitude, and now that I have someone as addle-brained as ye to look after, I can take peace in knowing I'll never be bored." Before Seras could protest, she continued.

"Me last place— with the Lady Dorland, rest 'er heart—oh, ye talk about withering away from boredom. She never moved, never made a mess, and never needed anything. All she wanted me to do was look nice and see to visitors. While that was plenty for a while, I needed something stimulating to do." She looked Seras over and smiled. "The first thing I'll be doing is gettin' you into your outfit for the night. We Halbferts don't attend the ceremonies unless it's with our employers, but ye better be getting a move on. Ye can't miss this ceremony."

"But-but you've never told me your name yet!" The maid paused, both hands full of the sapphire gown.

"Why'd ye be knowin' me name for?" she asked, before shaking her head again in a more pitying fashion. "Ye ent had a maid, I have to try and remember. Pardon me if I'm short-tempered with ye; I can't stand stupid people and I've never seen one so sheltered as ye, that ye never even had a maid nor knew what it was for."

"I want to call you by name. What am I supposed to call you, servant? Halfbert or Halbfort or whatever?"

"Halbfert," the maid said sharply. "At least get that'n right, Miss. And yes, most of the gentry don't care enough to call us much more than "servant" or "you", at best times. But if you insist—after all, who'm I to deny the King's own blood?—me name is Ailsa. Ailsa Bronsworth."

"Ailsa," Seras tried. She liked it. It fitted the woman; short, snappy, but with a rough sort of gentleness that washed over the whole thing. "It's a very pretty name. I'd much rather use that then "servant", you know."

"As you like, Miss," she replied absently, working the skirts on the gown in order to make it easier to get into. "I take it ye can undress yerself, so go ahead and get the pajamas off with."

* * *

**Afterword: ** Well, Seras is in a predicament. What to do?

I dunno. Don't ask me. But what you _can _ask me is other questions!  
I need Qs for a Q&A set of videos that I'm doing as my part of my web team's individual projects. Please read more about it on my profile page; please send in your questions! Thanks!


	2. A Night of New Experiences

"I'm gone have to get ye some proper clothing," Ailsa grumbled, tugging at the fabric of the gown with a withering glare. "If'n this be the best ye got. I ent seen anything like it in all me life, breathing 'r otherwise."

"It's fine," Seras snapped, but looked self-consciously in the mirror. The satiny sapphire gown hung loosely off her in a Grecian style, showing off none of her curves but subtly accenting what _might _be. Ailsa had braided her hair and tugged in into a bun, leaving little wisps around her face. She didn't wear any jewelry other than a silver ribbon around her neck that hid the bite marks while matching the gown's trim.

"Oh, tis fine enough for a human," Ailsa conceded. "But for the undead Court, ye'll be needin' fabric what matches the other gentry, won't ye? Can't have any mistress o' mine out of the fashions." Seras glanced at her reflection in the mirror with a weary expression before turning for the door. The maid caught her arm fast. "Oh, no, Miss."

"It's Seras, Ailsa. I've already told you." The handmaid pursed her lips and waved off the sharp words.

"I ent callin' ye by yer Christian name, Miss. Ye don' wan' be called Lady this-n-that, so "Miss" is the best yer gettin'. Now, ye can't go a-walkin' down around by yerself, not to Court anyway." Seras scowled, turning back to the woman.

"Are _you _going with me?" she replied scathingly. She was losing patience with this half-vampire and her rules. Apparently, there were millions of rules that the vampires went by, and 99% of them began with "A Lady can't" or "A Lady doesn't". The maid looked affronted.

"Gracious, no!" she exclaimed, eyes wide. "Me, at Court? T'would be a scandal n' a half, Miss!" She shook her head, nearly upsetting her cap. Seras crossed her arms and frowned sullenly.

"Then how do you expect me to get there?" Ailsa sighed and went to the door, opening it and motioning at the hallway. A young man stepped into the threshold with a low bow. He had bright gingery hair with highlights so bright they seemed blonde in comparison to the fiery locks. He wore a black doublet and breeches, with a crimson sash on his right forearm and polished black riding boots. He looked at Ailsa with an expectant stare, his yellowed eyes glinting with a dull light compared to his pale skin, which for a vampire was still unusually pallid.

"Alright, Colm, go 'n fetch the Captain. She's ready as she'll be." The boy nodded silently and turned, disappearing into the shadows. Seras stared over the maid's shoulder at the murky world beyond her door, realizing with a jolt that the electricity was not on in the hallway. It wouldn't be a problem for her, or any of the vampires, who could see just as well in the dark as they could with light. But she was used to the lights being on, and it made her uneasy.

"Who was he?" she finally asked. The handmaid studied her for a moment before answering.

"Tis yer page. He's a goodly sort of boy, a victim of happenstance like the rest o' us servants. He'll carry yer notes and fetch yer things, accompany us on journeys; that sort o' thing." She seemed reluctant to say more, and Seras was beginning to feel overwhelmed by it all at any rate, so she didn't inquire further.

She waited with Ailsa quietly in the room, fingering the silky material and thinking about all that had happened over the last two nights. As strange as it was, she wasn't feeling quite as mournful about the fate of the soldiers as she should have been. She was sure that it was the shock of it all, and the fact that her life had completely turned upside down from the moment she awoke yesterday evening.

She suddenly had a desperate wish that Sir Integra was alive again and sitting next to her. The woman had become a source of comfort after the horrors of the Millennium War, and she needed that wisdom and solace now, more than ever. She closed her eyes and imagined the phantom scent of cigar smoke she sometimes fancied still lingered around the departed Knight's bedroom and office, and the reassuring weight of a gloved hand on her shoulder.

But it was nothing more than fantasy. Sir Integra had been dead nearly half a century, and would never again be a confidant and friend to her. When she opened her eyes, the mental image was gone and she was left with a maid and a clean-ish bedroom, where she sat and awaited God-knows-what upstairs.

She was frightened. Alucard had shown no ill will towards her since he'd gone batshit insane and murdered an entire platoon of veteran soldiers and a handful of high-ranking Government officials. Her comrades, her brothers-in-arms—her friends—had died, but she remained living only because he had wished it. Sucking in a deep breath, she looked to the ceiling and bit her lower lip, her hands twisting together in her lap.

What was it he had told her last night? "I have no wish to harm you." What had that meant? She was no better at reading between the lines than she was when she'd been a brand new fledgling vampire. Did it mean that he would harm her if he had to, or that she didn't have to worry about him harming her at all? It could have meant that he'd send someone else to do the dirty work. He was a very literal man, when the mood suited him.

Last night, she hadn't been at all afraid of him for long. But, as the shock and her adrenaline began to ebb, she realized that she was very afraid. But she wasn't sure exactly what she was afraid of. She sighed softly, looking down at her hands and picking at her cuticles. She had all but promised Father Anderson that she would never be afraid of anything ever again. Looks like she had to recant those words.

But back then, she had had no idea of what lay in store for her; this was her argument to the melancholy side of her mind. She would have never dreamed that one day she might have witnessed all that she had seen in her unlife. And by vampire standards, she was still young. She'd barely lived a lifetime, while others, like Alucard and the stronger, more powerful vampires had lived many in their years walking the earth.

So she could forgive herself, saying those words. At the time, Nazis were the only things she had to be afraid of. After they were gone, life had been the closest thing to peaceful that there was. But in the years since, she had seen such suffering, and the misery of it all would be enough to drive one insane. But she had seen such happiness, too. She knew what vampires were capable of, in both fields.

But which one waited upstairs for her; happiness, or suffering? She had no way of knowing. But it wasn't like she could escape it. Alucard was the Vampire King. He was very nearly omnipotent. She could run to the ends of the earth, and he would be able to find her. She had half a mind that if she managed to escape this life and move on, he'd be able to find her wherever she went beyond the mortal plane.

Could she blame herself for being terrified at the thought of such a man holding such power over her? No, she could not. But she knew that she couldn't stand by and be a passive lamb headed to slaughter, either. It wasn't in her blood; she was her father's daughter. If suffering was what awaited her, she would not go down without fighting and taking others along with her.

Her hands clenched into fists and she raised her eyes, staring at the open doorway with resolve. She was resigned to whatever her fate would be. But she was going to forge her own path, no matter which one it was. She might be forced, coerced, beaten, and torn apart in both body and soul, but she didn't have to let herself be corrupted by it.

"Madame, Miss," a voice called, and the youth appeared again, offering another bow. "The Captain." Ailsa dropped into a curtsey and Seras rose, hiding her fists behind her back as she stared at the man who entered into the room, looking around curiously before his eyes fell on her. She straightened up as best she could, trying to seem taller than she was as she moved forward to greet him.

It occurred to her halfway across the room that she had no idea _how _to greet him. He was clearly someone important, and she had no clue on where she stood in the hierarchy compared to him. But if he were a mere Captain, would that mean that as the King's family, she was above him? She quickly decided that she didn't care, since it was just them down in the basement where no one but her maid and the page would see. She could always ask around on how to properly greet others when she had a spare moment.

She stopped before him and looked him over, committing his face to memory so that if he were friendly, she could easily find him again. It never hurt to have an ally or two around the gentry, she supposed. He had a thin face, not bony but drawn in a way that made him seem tired and made his eyes large in their sockets. His eyes were nearly as scarlet as hers, and glowed from behind a mass of dark brown curls that went all over the place and seemed unmanageable.

He wore all crimson, and his outfit was rather elaborate for a captain. His war uniform had a dark blue sash and he was covered in metal, with medals and brass buttons from his broad shoulders down to his waist. His white gloves stood out against the crimson pants, which were stuffed into black boots with matching brass buttons holding the laces together. His thin lips were turned down in an inquisitive frown as he watched her, and she somehow knew that he was looked as closely at her as she was at him.

"Good evening," she said in a way that she hoped sounded polite and regal, offering him a knee-bend curtsy that was more informal than the one the servants appeared to be using. "I assume you're the Captain?" He nodded once and bowed using just his shoulders and head, his eyes never leaving her face.

"You may call me Isaak," he replied, and Seras was surprised. The voice she had expected for him was a booming one that shook the rafters and left everyone scurrying in his wake. But that was not the sound that came out of this sturdy man. Instead, his voice held the _hint _of being loud, but was clearly subdued and held in check. He had a thick accent that she recognized as being some form of Russian. "It's nice to finally meet you, Little Sister."

Seras' brow knit in confusion. He had called her not Lady as Ailsa had, or Madame as the page had, but instead a rather intimate term. Was this a common way for men to speak to women that were clearly younger than themselves? Or was it something special that she should take note of? Her puzzlement must have shown clearly on his face, for he smiled rather warmly at her, clearly trying to ease her discomfort.

"You see," he began, trying to find the right words, "I am… I am your brother," he finished, before cursing in Russian and turning to the maid, who had been watching the scene unfold with a sense of detached nosiness. "English servant," he growled in a more commanding tone, and she hopped to attention. "Explain my words to my little sister."

"He means," Ailsa said with the air of one well informed in such matters, "that he's also from the King's intimate relations, although tis been centuries since he was a fledgling vampire. So yer family, blood-speakin'."

"We have the same sire," Isaak offered, still speaking hesitantly. "I am sorry, but English is not my best language. My sister—that is, my true sister," he paused, rubbing his chin, and Ailsa filled in for him.

"He n' his blood-n'-bone sister were made into vampires at the same time. They're truly brother and sister, ye see." The Captain glared at her for speaking out of turn and the handmaid quickly assumed a very submissive position against the wall, hands clasped and staring stolidly at her shoes.

"My sister studies for a living, and her languages are good. More good than mine. But no more talk," he said suddenly, pulling a gilded pocket watch out of one breast pocket and opening it up to check the time. "We go now."

He offered Seras his elbow and she threaded her arm through his, gulping as softly as she could. Ailsa raised her head just enough to offer an encouraging smile and the page barely had time to move aside before her escort swept her from the room and down the hall at a breathtaking speed.

"Ah, erm…" Seras began, walking quickly as it took two of her steps to equal one of his, "Isaak, I don't know much about Court manners," she finished in a rush. He looked at her as they began the ascent to the first floor, one hand barely brushing the railing to keep his place as he focused on her.

"Then little sister will stay quiet," he advised in a whisper. "Say only what you need, and I send Katya soon. She is a good teacher, and will be happy to help." Seras wondered who Katya was, but before she could ask they were on the landing and headed through the foyer. There were more people filling its halls than she'd ever seen before in one place.

Her eyes widened as she tried to take it all in, but she only caught fleeting glimpses as she was hurried onwards. Vampires were everywhere, and they were all dressed in different clothes that were outlandish as they were varied. Between the vampires, servants ran about dressed in the same clothes as her own servants, in black with different coloured sashes on their arms.

Seras saw a woman chewing gum as she sat on the railing, her hair as red as her eyes and dressed in torn leather. Two males with periwigs and pipes argued quietly in a corner, their servants standing to the side waiting to be called. A woman in a beautiful sari with a scarlet jewel on her forehead and bare feet walked by, followed by a young man with bite marks on his neck who seemed to be her fledgling. Across the foyer, a pair was dressed as a salaryman and woman, both speaking on their mobile phones while their other hands were intertwined sweetly.

All this she marveled at, but before she could get her fill it was out of sight and she was going down the hallways. She saw no bloodstains or even a sign of a battle. There were no bullet holes, no torn carpeting or ruined wallpaper. She looked around, wondering how it could be so, and Isaak urged her forth with muttered Russian phrases as well as insistences to "Hurry, hurry!"

* * *

Finally they reached the ballroom, or what used to be the ballroom in any case. Isaak stopped and turned to her, brushing her hair back into the braid and straightening her dress on her. He pulled a white kerchief out of a side pocket and dotted her forehead and cheeks as if they glistened with sweat before stuffing it back. Then he looked her over and, satisfied with her appearance, nodded to the FREAKs at the door to let them in.

As varied as the vampires outside were, the ones in here were similar. Seras realized quickly what Ailsa meant when she said that she would have to have a matching dress made. She refrained from licking her lips and instead clutched onto Isaak's arm with all she had. His muscle flexed and she looked up to see him staring at her in his peripherals. She smiled assuredly as he led her up to the stage, where the orchestra usually stood behind the ornate banisters that framed the structure.

Turning her gaze to their destination, Seras saw that Alucard had moved the giant chair from his room to this one, and was now seated in it. He was still dressed in his armor, and looked as though he hadn't even bathed or rested one bit since last night. His hair was scraggly as ever, and he appeared wild compared to the vampires flanking him on either side.

The vampires moved forward and bowed deeply at the waist to her and the Captain, who bowed back the same way he'd done her earlier that night. Seras took the cue and offered her awkward knee-curtsy again. They moved backwards, staring at her with guarded expressions, and she gazed back boldly before watching the man in the chair.

He raised his hand in an invitation for her to come nearer and she climbed the steps leading to the stage, stopping just out of his arm's reach. She felt every eye in the room on her and she knew that she must be pale as a sheet with nerves. She didn't know whether to be familiar with him in front of all these strangers, or to treat him with more respect than she had ever showed anyone before.

Suddenly the room erupted into whispers and she felt her frame tighten, every muscle tensed. She tried to catch a snatch of words, but the different languages and accents ran together in her ears so that if she _had_ heard English, she wouldn't have even known it. Alucard raised his hand and the words ceased, leaving only the shuffling of fabric in their wake.

"Seras Victoria," he addressed her, and the entire room seemed to hold its breath. She inched forward again, unsure of what to do. Did he want something from her? Was she breaching protocol by coming too close? She had no idea what to do—she was just a simple policewoman, not a grand lady! She wasn't made for _this_ sort of pressure! She waited, her face schooled into a neutral smile.

"What, are you speechless?" he said, and even with the thick accent he sounded enough like his old self to put her at ease. "You have no words for me?"

"I'm sorry—I was told to keep my trap shut unless I had to speak, since I didn't know what I was doing." She immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. It had come out sounding all muddled, not like she had meant it in her head. The two vampires stared at her strangely, but remained silent. She heard a hand fan snap shut somewhere behind her. The Captain inhaled sharply.

Alucard looked closely at her for a minute, one eyebrow disappearing into his hairline and she slowly blushed a deep red as her words hung in the air. She felt like a dumb blonde for the first time in her life, it seemed. All these people would now think of her as being either too forward, or too stupid. Then he burst into laughter, startling the vampires nearest him.

"Spoken like a true Police Girl!" he crowed, before snapping his fingers. "Bring my little one a seat." There was a scramble to obey and a few seconds later, an upholstered armchair was procured for her. "Sit down, Seras." He seemed to be in good humor for the moment, so she took her seat beside his chair and looked out over the crowd. "Well, Captain," he rumbled a moment later, and Isaak came to stand before his throne in Seras' place.

They began a conversation in Russian, and Seras couldn't understand a word although the rapid speech sounded grave and important. She turned her attention to the crowd, who was divided between looking at her and looking at the Captain. They all stared at her, and she stared back just as solemnly, taking in the scene.

Her mental image of "gentry" had consisted of something you'd see in a painting of 18th century Versailles; men in ruffles and lace with buckled boots and tight smiles, and women in powdered wigs with patches on their faces and enormous gowns. But she should have known that vampires would never have kept the fashions of humans entirely, but instead make something all their own.

Not to say that human fashion wasn't a factor—it was. But it was as if the vampire Court had kept what they liked from every century's fads and pushed it all together in a mish-mosh of clothing that somehow worked. The color of the clothing was dark, in subtle shades of green, brown, blue, purple, red; it was varied throughout the hall, but it all blended magnificently against the pale, lacquered off-white of the ballroom walls.

The women had gowns from the 19th century, full-skirted with exposed shoulders and cinched waists that weren't too overbearing. Their hair was piled on top of their heads in curls or hung down their backs in braids, but nearly all of them had a ribbon or jewels weaved among the locks. Their ivory skin looked smooth, and some had ribbons or jewels around their necks that showed off their collarbones. Many carried hand fans, and were fluttering them or whispering to each other behind them. She even saw glasses on a few feminine noses.

The men were much more relaxed, with no lace or ruffles in sight. Some had long hair tied back with a ribbon, but that was as far as they went towards being "bedecked". They wore black or brown shirts that were tucked neatly into their breeches, which in turn were tucked neatly into their boots. A few had vests on that buttoned over the shirts, while others had more modern jackets and some had nothing at all. They all wore gloves. Seras saw a few pocket watches hanging out of pants on golden or silver chains.

There was no other eye color than red; apparently only pure-blooded vampires were allowed into the nobility. But Seras had never seen so many varying _shades _of red. There were crimsons like the King, lighter shades of scarlet, colors from deepest burgundy to the lightest magenta that looked almost pink in comparison to the rest. White fangs, red eyes, and cold skin—it was a strange sight.

As she held their gazes, she tried to determine their moods. A few of the women, especially the younger-looking ones, smiled in a friendly manner at her. A few sneered and looked away. Others looked uncomfortable, and one or two even returned her stares with an emboldened glare of their own. The men were more alike; they inclined their head slightly, the older ones smiling cordially while the younger ones flushed and looked away after a moment.

No one seemed to have any sort of ill-will towards her. She was just another passing oddity to them, who had seen who-knows-how-much in their existence. The thought set her more at ease and she found herself beginning to enjoy the quiet atmosphere of the room, her thoughts lulled by the nearly inaudible murmur of a thousand voices talking in undertones.

"Are you tired?" The question, directed at her, roused her out of her daydreaming and she realized that she had almost nodded off. Sitting up straight, she shook her head quickly and put her hands in her lap, determined to keep herself awake. She didn't need these people making a mockery of her because she fell asleep! Alucard watched her for a moment before motioning to one of the vampires on either side of his throne. "Have them proceed, before I become impatient."

"Yes, my lord," the vampire murmured, before stepping forward. "First case—Lord Azrael of Padua, convicted of willingly breaking the Children's law."

"Bring him forward," Alucard ordered.

"Children's law?" Seras whispered to him, leaning over slightly. He held up a hand and made a gesture that she took to mean "wait and see". Two FREAKs, dressed as guards of sorts, carried a man between them in chains. He was beaten up and his face had a bloody gash, but he strode forward confidently, his head held high.

"Read the convictions." Alucard sounded bored already, but Seras was all ears. She'd never seen Court proceedings before, but she could easily see that this was a medieval-esque judicial process of some kind. The vampire held up his parchment, shuffling it before pulling a pair of spectacles from his coat pocket and slipping them on.

"Garth Azrael of Padua has been convicted of breaking the Children's law. Two years ago he was found to have willingly created a fledgling vampire; a five-year-old female that answers to Surry. He has since been held in custody until he could have his time at Court."

"Do you deny the charges brought against you?" Alucard asked the man, fingers rubbing his chin stubble.

"No, I do not," the man answered, not missing a beat. Alucard looked to the vampire, who was waiting with the parchment still in his hands.

"The child?"

"She has been given a draught for dreamless sleep," the vampire answered dutifully. The King nodded and waved his hand.

"Guilty." The other vampire stepped forward, drawing his sword, and ran it through the chained man's heart without a second's pause. The man let out a grunt of pain, his eyes widening in surprise, and then glazing as his body turned to ash. The FREAK guards moved away as servants rushed forward to brush the ash from the ground with a push broom. In moments it was as if the man had never existed at all.

"Bring the child," Alucard ordered, and a woman maid came forward, the little girl in her arms. She laid her at the King's feet and stepped away, head down and hands clasped. Seras leaned forward with a sad frown.

"Poor little thing," she murmured, her heart touched. The child was like an elven changeling; too beautiful to be a normal, human girl with her pale skin and golden curls. She would have never wished immortality to a babe, especially not to an otherwise healthy five-year-old child. But it was against the law to do that sort of thing? She posed the question quietly to Alucard so that the other vampires in the room wouldn't hear her and know that she was uncertain.

"Children are not mature enough to handle being one of our kind," he answered as he stared at the child. "And if they are turned into vampires, they may never be mature. It's a high-risk gamble, and that's why the law is in place. It declares that no mortal under the age of sixteen can be considered for possible fledglings."

"Ah," Seras replied, eyes still glued to the child at their feet. "What do we do when… when people break the laws?" She was almost afraid to find out. Alucard sighed heavily.

"We destroy the risk," he answered simply, without any emotion whatsoever. Seras gasped. An innocent child, killed because of something that wasn't even their fault? The shock must have shown on her face, because he explained further.

"It is not an easy choice, but the needs of the many outweigh the needs of one. Especially when our whole race is involved." The executioner vampire stepped forward, pity written on his face even as his sword swung upwards toward the vaulted ceiling. Seras closed her eyes, hearing the sword slice through the air and hit its target. She waited until the sound of brooms sweeping ash filled her ears before opening them again. Alucard was staring at her, his eyes filled with an undefinable emotion.

"She felt nothing," he said gruffly. "The draught took care of that." She didn't answer, instead staring out at the vampires. They all had varying expressions of sympathy and sadness on their face, but the entire room seemed to share an air of "what-could-we-have-done". "Next case." And just like that, the child was forgotten and attention turned to two men glaring at each other as they stepped up to the throne.

This was a case of stolen land, as far as Seras could understand. There was a mixture of foreign words and English, but she heard "ground", something that sounded like "thief", and then the two men were very near exchanging blows when Alucard stepped in. He spoke sharply to each of them, and appeared to ask questions. Finally he singled one out, gave a ruling, and then repeated it in English to the room.

"The rightful owner is Lord Bale." The vampires whispered and nodded, though some of the men seemed to disagree with the King's decision, though no one said anything aloud.

They went through case after case, mostly in English though a few spoke very little. Seras was surprised at the different languages that Alucard knew, but then she thought to herself that living as long as he did, he had time to learn languages.

Then she entertained the idea of learning French, which made her laugh as she thought of Captain Bernadotte. He stayed asleep in her mind most of the time, coming out only to exhaust what little energy he had in battle. Wouldn't it be funny to talk to him in French, just to surprise him and call him on his little perverted slurs?

"You grow bored?" Alucard asked, looking at her again. She shook herself out of her thoughts a second time.

"No, I'm just thinking," she said absentmindedly, scratching her cheek. "How many more of these do you have to go through?"

"Many," he replied vaguely. "There is at least a century's worth of unresolved cases that require my judgment." He examined her, his hand rubbing his chin. "Go back to your room, Seras. I won't have time to speak with you tonight."

"Can't I stay a bit longer?" she asked quickly, trying not to sound too pleading. As interesting as the cases were, she had a strange feeling that this might be the last time she saw him in a while, even if he did want to speak with her. He smiled obligingly, but told her no. Sighing, she stood and the Captain stepped forward with a bow.

"I shall see her back," he offered. Alucard nodded and with a wave of his hand, she was out the door and chauffeured back to her room before her brain had time to register that she had gone.

* * *

She had been treated to a leisurely bath when the Captain had said his goodbye and departed from her room. Ailsa had undone her hair and brushed it out gently as Seras soaked, chatting quietly about her plans. Seras' attention wavered, but she listened enough to know that the handmaid had already ordered the royal tailor to come. The fact that there was a royal tailor didn't faze the vampiress. She was too overwhelmed with everything as it was.

Finally she asked Ailsa to stop talking in the kindest way she could think—she asked her to sing instead. The older woman had smiled and began to softly sing a song that Seras had never heard before, but relaxed her all the same. She let Ailsa continue brushing the snarls out of her short locks as she let the evening wash over her. Finally, she had time to think about everything that had happened, and she had no idea what to make of it.

She emerged from the bath and was promptly in her pajamas and in her coffin, worn out and harried by the night's events. Ailsa bid her a hearty "good mornin'" and took up some sewing as Seras shut the lid of her coffin and lay in the dark. She stared at the worn wood of the lid and felt a tear slip down her cheek. She didn't know why she felt like crying—perhaps she was just too tired. Or perhaps the horror of what had happened, and the uncertainty of the future, had finally gotten to her without her realizing it.

But she was beyond caring at this point. She closed her eyes, tears leaking out from under her cheeks until she fell into a dreamless doze.


End file.
